


Gets Me Closer to God

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Body Worship, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Hazy mornings look good on Frank, and David has no impulse control.





	Gets Me Closer to God

The thing is, David tries not to stare.

Frank is, quite honestly, probably the most beautiful man David’s ever seen up close. And David wasn’t joking when he’d called himself a player in college; he’d never gone behind anyone’s back, never cheated, never hurt, but he had loved and left more than a few times. Just as often with guys as with gals. He’s seen and touched and spent the night with plenty of attractive people.

And Frank standing there, bathed in the soft diffuse light of sun through curtains, the morning after falling asleep in David’s arms?

Yeah, talk about goddamn stunning.

“You wanna run and get your camera?” Frank drawls, but it’s more amused than acerbic, and David can handle that.

“Huh? No, sorry, you’re just, uh,”  _ the closest thing to proof of a just and loving God _ , he almost says, but he knows immediately, intuitively, that the compliment would be taken entirely wrong by Frank. A man who’s suffered as Frank has doesn’t want to hear about just and loving gods. “Looking really, really good right now.”

Well, it’s honest. Artless, maybe, but honest. Frank colors up and looks away, and the early morning sun highlights his profile, more gorgeous than any model. Soft, thick lips part, Frank grumbling something, but he does nothing to cover up. David lets himself have this -- they’ve both starved for it long enough.

Frank has no idea how absurdly gorgeous he is. He isn’t shy, by any means, of his body, but to him it’s just… normal. Not special, not interesting. He’d confessed one sleepy morning that he’d thought the scars would bother David more, but they don’t. David likes tracing them, remembering the marks when they were raw and bleeding, remembering when he sewed them closed. He’s learned to tell a stab wound from a slice, the mark of a bullet that passed clean through from one that had to be carved free. He knows all the shrapnel wounds, all the sore spots from ancient broken bones.

Frank’s arms are so thick with muscle, and David is surprised to discover how incredibly into that he was. Frank was hard and unyielding, except that he so often gave under David’s hands. Grabbing his arm was like grappling with marble, but David needed only to tug gently on a bicep before Frank relented, turning back toward the bed, climbing in over David. 

He wastes no time, hooking a hand around the back of Frank’s neck and pulling him in to kiss. Surging up and tugging lightly, Frank cedes control, letting himself be dragged further into the bed, David pinning him down. David looks down at him, hands braced at those broad, firm shoulders, hips low on Frank’s thighs. It’s roughly six AM and they’re both hard, a lazy sort of arousal that they could ignore if they wanted to, but why would they? 

Given opportunity, a hungry man must eat.

Kissing, licking, biting his way down to Frank’s chest, David thinks he’s never been so hungry for another human being. Maybe for Sarah after a year of celibacy, but certainly no other desire comes close. David kisses at the scar where, months ago, an arrow had been lodged in Frank’s chest, poisoning his blood; he kisses until Frank sucks in a sharp breath and bucks sharply against him. 

Frank’s skin is rippled with scars, stretched tight over muscles he keeps ruthlessly in shape. Frank is brutal with everyone but no one more so than himself, his discipline and rigorous lifestyle leaving him perfect under David’s hands.

Hands that stroke idly over the dips and swells of Frank’s arms, feeling every vein and thumbing gently in time with his pulse. David’s mouth works across one pec, and he hears Frank bite back a beautiful sound as he ducks his head lower still, laves his tongue over the curve of his ribs. A broad, rough-fingered hand finds its way into his hair and David allows it, knows Frank gives him that choice. Frank could put him through the bedroom wall without breaking a sweat, but like this he’d let David pin him down, would give up all control to let David rule him for a while. 

Maybe later, David thinks, smirking at the image of Frank letting him tie him down. He didn’t have any rope, but he had a drawer full of old ties, and the mental image of Frank trussed in silk, pulling at it but checking himself, careful not to ruin David’s ties, makes him groan softly. His lips are against Frank’s abs, exploring the soft curves of them, then the deep, perfect V of his hips. Frank is so hard beneath him, holding so still, his breath coming in beautiful sharp drags. The sound he makes when David kisses the joint of his thigh, so close to his cock but still not there, is gorgeous, low and throaty and full of familiar want. Frank would like David to hurry up, he knows, but David won’t. Sometimes Frank makes him feel like he’s in the throes of something like religious ecstasy, with no choice left to him but worship.

That should scare him, but it thrills him instead. He works his way down Frank’s legs, pouring himself over those thick thighs, making Frank jump with a swipe of his tongue to the back of a knee. 

Every inch of Frank is perfect, and David says so. Frank looks at him, something in those dark eyes bright with the need for proof that he was still -- again -- alive, and David can do nothing but relent, pressing a quick kiss to the swell of Frank’s ankle before moving back up. 

His tongue molds to the head of Frank’s dick, curling in a hot lick, before he draws the tip between his lips. He’s just as inclined to worship here as he is with the whole of the other man, and Frank’s fingers tangling in his hair hardly dissuades that.

Frank doesn’t hold him, though he so easily could, could keep David right there and take what he wants. Part of David would welcome the violence of such an exchange, loves the idea of being used by this man, taken, claimed. Frank owns him in a way David can’t wholy explain, like hooks in his heart, like silk around his throat. And David thinks Frank knows he could get away with a bit of roughness, but he never does. Curling his fingers against the curve of David’s skull seemed to be the extent if his desire for that.

Of course, David rewards that behaviour, that sweet consideration, by sinking down further, taking Frank in and in until the head of his cock teases David’s throat. He’s gotten better at this, David has, with weeks of practice, but he always pauses here, takes a deep breath through his nose, and the swallows. Frank’s thighs tense, his spine straightens, and the hands in David’s hair tug, just this side of gentle. 

“God,  _ David _ ,” Frank growls, somewhere between prayer and curse. It’s a heady thing, the sound of that voice brought right to the edge, this god among men brought to the brink by something so small.

Sometimes, Frank is so laughably Catholic, all self flagellation and guilt over things he’d never had a choice in. David understands; there’s a comfort in retreating to old rituals. 

Right now, the little bit of force being used to try pulling David back, off of him, Frank seems to be seized by that Catholic inclination. Deny the self pleasure, deny feeling good, regardless of how badly you needed that connection, that release. David sucks Frank right back down and shivers at the sweep of a thumb down the hollow of his cheek. 

Squeezing at the meat of Frank’s thighs again, David gently encourages the careful thrusting of Frank’s hips. The feeling of his lips stretched around that hot length, throat gently rocked into again and again, makes David feel a little wild. Frank’s iron control is wavering, all desire to make David pause or stop fleeing him as David sucks him down. David is just as far gone, moaning softly to add to the wet, sloppy sounds made by Frank’s cock pumping in and out of his mouth. 

It’s obscene, it’s utterly filthy, but that sense of almost holy perfection pervades it all. Frank is a perfect example of the tender care put in to the design of the human form, and he deserves to be worshipped. David feels himself blessed to be the one allowed to do it.

He slides a hand up Frank’s thigh, toying with his balls for a moment before pressing a firm circle against his perineum. Frank arches and  _ whines _ at that, precum flooding David’s mouth. 

“Fuck,” Frank exhales, trying to tug David up again. David sucks on him a little harder. “Asshole, Lieberman, you’re sucha…  _ god _ …”

David would laugh if he could, because he knows what Frank means, but the way he sounds is just so lost, and there’s something about Frank Castle losing himself to this, to  _ David _ , that makes him feel a little hysterical. 

The feel of those fingers, shaking with the effort taken not to tangle in and pull, carding carefully against his scalp, makes David shiver. Frank gives up on getting David to stop, gives in to the idea that David really wants to do this. He does this every time, and David has learned to be persistent. 

Now, he revels in the feeling of his lips stretching around Frank, the sort of numb, tingly sensation that builds with each pull. Frank is petting him with something like desperation now, close, so close. David sits back, sucking wetly up the whole length of him, and then flicks his tongue against the head, pushing Frank against the liquid heat of his soft palate, and that’s it. Frank gives a single, aborted buck up into David’s mouth, and comes buried in that perfect heat. 

Once, this would have been too much; David would have pulled off or choked, and Frank, ever so considerate in this, lets go of David’s hair, panting, giving him the option of sitting back. But David has gotten better at this, too, after weeks of practice; David swallows it down, working Frank until he’s shuddering, frantic beneath him, cock softening in David’s mouth even as he thrusts shallowly into it. Only then does David pull away, smiling as he sits up, kneeling between Frank’s splayed legs. 

He knows he looks a mess by now. Hair wild, drool on his chin, skin blushed bright all the way down his chest. There’s a rough patch of redness on the inside of each of Frank’s thighs, marks from David’s beard. Frank looks at him, his eyes dark and wide, fucked out again. Frank looks like he could fall right back to sleep, and David wouldn't mind that, a lazy day where they can just stay curled up together, idle touches building to more with that same careful certainty.

But then Frank reaches for him, drags him into a kiss, licking hot and intent into his mouth, like he’s chasing down the taste of himself. His hand goes between them, wrapping around David in a tight, sure grip, and suddenly David doesn’t want slow, doesn’t want lazy, doesn’t want to last. 

“One of these days, that mouth is gonna get you in trouble,” Frank promises. His eyes are bright with intent, pupils blown, and David can’t look away. 

“If this is what trouble gets me…” he manages, voice utterly wrecked, and he can see the effect the sound has on Frank in the baring of his teeth, the set of his jaw. 

Frank barely gets two strokes in before David comes, messy and overwhelmed by the intensity. He finds it impossible to deny Frank when he wants something, and right then it’s so clear that what Frank wants is to unmake him, to watch him come apart. So he does, letting his head drop down, chin to chest as he jerks his hips into Frank’s fist, moaning low and satisfied as his own spend splashes up his stomach and across the sheets. 

“God,” he says a few minutes later, curled up with Frank neatly wrapped around him, chin resting on David’s shoulder. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Frank digs cold toes against David’s legs, makes him yelp, laughs at him in that quiet way he has. “You already got one this morning, don’t push it.”

“Hey, all I’m angling for at this point is a shower. I have work to get to today, unlike certain unnamed people sharing this bed.”

The final word leaves him in an undignified shout as Frank puts an arm between them, palm spread over his back, and shoves him unceremoniously out of the bed, right onto the floor. David lands in a naked heap, picks himself up laughing. The laugh dries up on him when he looks at Frank, the way he’s stretched himself out on the sheets, legs spread just so, hands behind his head. It’s obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing from the smirk on his face, and David, well.

He tries not to stare. 

“I have to be in by nine,” he says, and the words are kind of undermined by the way he just stands there, eyes raking over Frank’s lax form. 

Frank just smiles, and it’s so easy. “You should shower then,” he says, and then  _ stretches _ , arms over his head, whole body on perfect display. 

David glances at the clock. Seven thirty. Really, just enough time to shower and eat something before he logs in for work. Does his job, gets paid; normal stuff, responsible. Thank god he doesn’t have to drive anywhere anymore; he’d almost certainly be late already. 

He’s thinking about that, about being late, as he sinks one knee into the mattress, listening to Frank laugh as he drags him in by the shoulders, pulling him back to bed.


End file.
